A Wallace Arnold Tour

Some of our holidaymakers are only half with us, metaphorically at least.  Two sisters from an old people’s home booked to come with us and caused some amusement.  Annie and Aggie Bishop were brought to the coach rendezvous and were welcomed aboard.  They were a withdrawn pair, entirely engrossed in each other and barely acknowledged our genial discussion.  From the very first, their conversation to any others in the party was restricted to “Good night”, or “How do you do?”.  They had been designated as mentally confused, but seemingly it was either spasmodic or quite slight.  They were not very alert but refused politely and firmly all offers of help or friendship.  We used to watch them make their way to their chalet in the gathering dusk.  The slim, slow figures used to move around the long concrete path and then hesitate.  We used to see them gazing at the figures on the doors, move on again and then turn back to have another investigation.  Eventually, the used to verify their accommodation and both stand for a long period while one of them found a key and then both would disappear into the door, which would be closed firmly behind them.  The light would go on, and immediately, Miss Aggie would slide the curtains together, making sure that not a tiny gap was left which could serve as a means of disclosure for their programme of retirement.

 

In the morning, they would appear at breakfast just in time.  They found themselves a small table under one of the windows, and the two other ladies who shared this with them used to remark disparagingly about their being a bit ‘snooty’.  The sole topic of all their conversation was,  we were told, the weather, the quality of the food and the church of which they were both fervent members.

 

They used to sit, most evenings, in the corner of the ‘Holiday Inn’ with a glass of sherry each, which would last all the evening, until at 10 o’clock, without a word to one another, they would both finish off the last few drips of sherry in the glasses, rise from their seats, pull their cardigans around themselves and walk, like two solemn hens, off to roost.

 

It was quite by chance that we gained an insight into what was inside their two dismal heads.  It happened that our oldest holiday maker was going to celebrate her ninety-seventh birthday on the Friday before our return home the following day.  The Camp management were quite excited about it.  It was seldom that they had such a mature guest at the Camp, so mentally alert and so active.  The chef was preparing a special cake, which was to be cut and shared between the other guests at the table.  As organisers, we could not be left out of some token of recognition of such a momentous event.

 

It was decided that most of the party would like to be associated with the celebration and as the party totalled more than three hundred, a very small contribution from each would result in a collection which would be worthy of the occasion.

 

One of our helpers was detailed to visit all the chalets about half-an-hour before breakfast on two consecutive mornings, and pass round the proposal and either collect money on the spot or give information as to who would be prepared to receive it.

 

At last the helper came to the door in which were housed the two Bishop sisters.  Confidently he knocked at the door and Miss Aggie, fully dressed even to her white hat, opened it.  She listened to his story disinterestedly.  Miss Annie appeared and the two looked at one another.  Then Miss Aggie, quite politely, put the helper in his place.  “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake young man”, she told him.  “You see, we aren’t with your party at all.  We are on a Wallace Arnold Tour, so we don’t know your old lady”.  The helper, his mouth still open ready for whatever comment occurred to him, retreated from the door.  The two sisters gazed at him as he moved away to the next door.  The two white hats retreated and the door closed gently.

 

We often wondered how our holiday compared with their Wallace Arnold Tour.